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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283720">Tipping Point</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover'>sconelover</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Heroverse [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Basically all the swordfight tropes, Enemies to Lovers, Ficlet, Homoerotic Swordfight, Lifting chins with swords, M/M, Pining, Pinning Wrists, Pre-Holding Out For a Hero, Prequel, Rooftop Fight, Sexy Swordfight, Subtextually Homoerotic Fight Scene, Superheroes, Supervillains, Sword innuendo, Swordfighting, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Bad at Feelings, Walking backwards with a sword at your chest, heroverse, holding out for a hero</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:40:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,604</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283720</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"He levels his sword at me menacingly, and I can’t take my eyes off of it; the length of it smooth, glistening, shaped gracefully down to the hilt."<br/>// or //<br/>A really, really, really homoerotic swordfight. That's about it.</p><p>This is set pre-<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503759">Holding Out For a Hero.</a> You don't have to read that to understand this, but there are a few references you'll catch if you have. </p><p>I'd recommend reading it after <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503759/chapters/56987014">Chapter 9</a> or before or after <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503759/chapters/58399957#workskin">Chapter 21!</a></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>The Golden Blade/Vampire, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch &amp; Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Vampire &amp; The Golden Blade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Heroverse [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713400</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>119</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tipping Point</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyuss/gifts">Kyuss</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy Birthday, Kyuss!!! And surprise!</p><p>Your genuine passion and excitement for my Goldenvamp fight scenes motivated me to post this. A little while ago, you mentioned the sad lack of homoerotic sword fights on AO3. I thought I would fix that. So here’s one more for the mix. (Though it’s technically a sword-rebar fight… semantics, right?)</p><p>When I started writing this little prequel fic, I knew that I wanted to dedicate it to you. You were my first commenter ever (!!!) and you’ve stuck with this story ever since. I can’t tell you how much that means to me. When I started writing Holding Out For a Hero, I had no idea how it would go, how long it would be, or if people would even like it. Thank you so much for all your comments and support -- especially for the sexy fighting vibes. ;) </p><p>Hope you enjoy! 🖤</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Baz</b>
</p><p>I love Watford.</p><p>Blade loves Watford.</p><p>And I wonder for the umpteenth time, <em> why are we even fighting? </em></p><p>Unfortunately, I can’t stop. Fiona hasn’t been successful yet, but that’s not the reason.</p><p>I fucking hate Blade. I hate his goddamn superiority complex and his ego and the way he thinks he’s fucking invincible. He needs to be taken down a notch.</p><p>I hate the way he’s in Mage’s front pocket. The man points and Blade attacks blindly.</p><p>I hate his stubbornness, the way he asks me the same goddamn question every time we meet: <em> What do you want, Vampire? </em></p><p>I hate the way he looks in his suit—the way he fills it out with his bulky build, the way the fabric stretches over his muscles. He doesn’t have any strengthening superpowers (I don’t think, at least), so that’s just from pure training and discipline. </p><p>I hate watching him run. The way the muscles in his calves and thighs ripple; they’re so defined you can see them through his suit. His body’s annoyingly perfect: broad shoulders, narrow hips.</p><p>I didn’t hate him at first, before, but when he decided he couldn’t leave me alone, well. I may have developed a bit of an obsession. With hating him. And lusting after him. (Just a little.)</p><p>Fiona’s trying a new plan—not Plan B or even C, it must be Plan J at this point—and I’m perched on a rooftop, waiting for Blade. I dangle my legs over the side, swinging them like a child would. Down below, there’s a camera trained on me and another filming that one American reporter who has a weird fascination with me. I wave to him like I’m the Queen. He waves back in an overly friendly way. <em> Americans. </em></p><p>It’s not long before Blade shows up.</p><p>I love fighting him on rooftops. It gives me the upper hand. If he falls off, he goes <em> splat. </em></p><p>Blade charges onto the roof, all rage and energy, and I hover and pretend to look bored. I have to twist my body language into this shape, use every ounce of my willpower to keep the tension out of my limbs. He won’t hurt me. Not yet.</p><p>He takes a breath, and I know what he’s going to say. I do say it then, at the same time as him: “What do you want, Vampire?” His tone is fierce, mine mocking.</p><p>He growls. “Don’t do that.”</p><p>“Don’t do what?”</p><p>“Say what I’m going to say.”</p><p>“Don’t be so predictable, then.”</p><p>He huffs and launches himself at me, and I’m ready. He can easily overpower me physically, but I’m faster. (And I can fly. Always a plus.)</p><p>I hate being this close to him; he’s warm, like he’s constantly running a fever. And he smells strange, like cinnamon and butter and something burnt.</p><p>It’s distracting as fuck.</p><p>I block his punch with my forearm—<em> fuck, </em>that hurt—and duck, narrowly dodging a kick. I’m terrible at hand-to-hand, but I can defend myself well enough. I aim a stiff hand towards his solar plexus, but he blocks easily, then darts forward and surrounds my neck in a chokehold.</p><p>I struggle for a second before forcing myself to go limp in his arms and stomping on his foot, hard. He doesn’t even move. “Give me one reason not to snap your fucking neck,” he says.</p><p>
  <em> Jesus. </em>
</p><p>I gasp out, “Because you don’t know what I’m up to yet, Blade.” Predictably, he lets me go.</p><p>I tumble away and scrabble for the triggers to my flamethrowers, but he’s on me again in an instant. My finger finally finds the catch and I shoot a jet of fire straight at his chest. He yelps and backs away.</p><p>“Sorry, did I get you <em> heated, </em>Goldilocks?”</p><p>I take advantage of his moment of weakness to pounce, using the extra boost from flying to knock him over. We crash to the ground.</p><p>I can’t kiss him and I can’t kill him, so I just try to pummel him instead. It’s almost a good enough replacement; hot and passionate and charged. Lightning zips up my spine every time my body makes contact with his.</p><p>His blue eyes are filled with rage, all directed towards me. (It feels good, almost. That all his attention and energy is for me alone.) He looks like he could rip my heart out of my fucking chest. </p><p>I have him pinned now, and he pants out, “Why are you doing this, Vampire? What’s your endgame?”</p><p>“What, I can’t simply enjoy your delightful company?”</p><p>My arms are braced on either side of his head, holding down his wrists. I press them into the hard ground and bracket his body with my thighs. He only hasn’t broken my arms for the threat of me shooting fire at him. He struggles, brings a knee up between my legs, but I stand my ground. (I wear a cup—I’m not an idiot.)</p><p>“Fuck you,” he spits.</p><p>I lean in close. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Simon</b>
</p><p>I hate Vampire.</p><p>I always ask him what he wants, but the truth is I don’t care that much. He’s a threat to the city. I fight him. That’s my job.</p><p>But Mayor Mage wants to know. And Penny wants to know. I could bring him in but he doesn’t seem likely to crack under traditional interrogation. So I keep fighting him, and I keep asking.</p><p>And I can’t pretend that something about him doesn’t intrigue me. He’s a mystery cloaked in black fabric and a cape. He’s a walking puzzle I could spend years trying to solve.</p><p>My back is pressed to the cold, uneven roof tile. Vampire’s on top of me, crushing my wrists to the floor above my head with one hand. The black side of his mask is tilted towards me. I can’t break free of his grip without being blasted by flames. </p><p>He’s leaning so close now and our eyes meet. His eyes are stormy grey, intense; his irises don’t touch the bottom. </p><p>I glare at him as he speaks, and something gives him pause. The second’s hesitation is all I need to flip us over. I slam his shoulders into the tile, and he grunts, then kicks off sideways. The roof is slanted, and I cling to him as we tumble downwards together.</p><p>Vampire is cold—he barely has any body heat, and I wonder for a moment. (Maybe he is an actual vampire?) He’s all angles under the suit. His sharp hipbones dig into my stomach. My shoulders thump against the tiles, and he bears down onto me, trying to use me to cushion the blows. We’re so close I can feel the heat of his breath on my face. Our limbs tangle together.</p><p>“Tell me,” I growl, fighting for purchase. We reach the edge of the roof and I brace my knee on its lip. I keep him pinned down with my upper body, but if we end up sliding, I’m the one that’s going to be in trouble.</p><p>He likes fighting me on rooftops because he has the upper hand here. </p><p>Sometimes I feel like he does, but it’s not because he can fly.</p><p>“And what if I don’t, Goldy?” he teases. </p><p>It’s because he’s not afraid of me.</p><p>I drive my right elbow into his ribs, and he grunts, retaliating with a blast of fire. I spring off him and scramble up the roof tiles.</p><p>“Then you’ll wish you didn’t show up tonight,” I say. </p><p>My feet slip downwards and Vampire takes advantage, springing on me. I throw an arm out, but it’s too late—his fist smashes into my collarbone, and my vision explodes in white-hot pain. I try to knee him in the gut, but he steps smoothly backwards.</p><p>Other criminals are scared of me. I have a slightly inflated reputation, and sometimes I just have to show up at a scene to make them flee or surrender. Sometimes I don’t have to do anything but draw my sword. They put their hands in the air. They turn themselves in. They don’t want to face me down.</p><p>“You still haven’t realised, Blade,” Vampire says.</p><p>“What?” I ask. I’m doubled over, panting. </p><p>Vampire’s drawn in bold lines, traced by moonlight. His cape flutters in the wind, and I wonder for the thousandth time who is in there—who could want to hunt me this passionately. He steps closer, and I’m mesmerised by his graceful movements.</p><p>“I’m your <em> match,” </em> he says. And he says it with such conviction that I almost believe him.</p><p>Vampire is not afraid of facing me head-on. He seeks me out. He’s not afraid of the fire in my eyes. I think he likes pushing my buttons, just to see if I’ll explode.</p><p>I never do. But I’m damn close.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>Baz</b>
</p><p>Blade is back on his feet and ready to attack in a flash.</p><p>I snarl and prepare to hurl myself at him again, but I stop dead in my tracks when he finally draws his sword.</p><p>He levels it at me menacingly, and I can’t take my eyes off of it; the length of it smooth, glistening, shaped gracefully down to the hilt. He wields it naturally, like it’s always been an extension of his body. It’s wickedly sharp, golden, fucking perfect like the rest of him.</p><p>The tip is centimeters from my neck. His aim is deadly and exact.</p><p>He looks damn hot with a sword in his hands. (Everyone looks better with a sword in their hands. Blade even more so.)</p><p>I curve my lips into a smirk; he can’t see, but he’ll hear it. “Finally unsheathed your sword for me, then?”</p><p>I sound calm, but I am about to lose all composure. Does Blade have to look so fucking sexy all the time, even when he’s angry—especially when he’s angry? When I say something that sets him <em> off? </em> </p><p>He advances on me, the tip of the blade now pointed at my chest. It digs into my clothing.</p><p>His eyes are narrowed and blue and focused. He pushes on the sword, and I’m forced to retreat. He maintains eye contact, walking me backwards until I reach the edge of the rooftop. The energy brimming off him is nearly palpable. My next breath comes out in a shudder.</p><p>Blade’s eyes betray no emotion but anger, and I’m more scared than I’ve ever been of him when he says, “Tell me what you’re up to.”</p><p>But it’s not in my character to be <em> scared. </em></p><p>My eyes are drawn to the length of the sword. My own distorted golden reflection winks up at me. “Eh. Maybe another time,” I say.</p><p>Blade growls low in his throat. He gently lifts my chin with the tip of his blade, forcing me to meet his eyes. </p><p>I don’t dare move; there’s a weak spot in my suit right where the cold metal is pressing into the hollow of my neck, the crease between my mask and shirt. He’s got me in his grasp, and he knows it.</p><p>We’ve never held eye contact for this long. He’s unwavering in his resolve. (So fucking stubborn.) I let myself imagine what he looks like for an instant, the man who smells like warm spices and smoke. The set of his jaw, the curve of his lips. Him looking at me in another scenario. It’s hard for me to comprehend that there’s a real person inside the suit.</p><p>“Tell me,” he nearly whispers.</p><p>“No,” I say again. And then I launch myself backwards, catching him by surprise. </p><p>“Scared, Vampy?” he yells.</p><p>I soar to the other side of the rooftop, searching for a weapon. His suit is somewhat fireproof—my flames serve mostly as a distraction. I swoop down and snatch up a long piece of rebar, then plant myself firmly on the ground. “Never,” I say.</p><p>The Golden Blade runs toward me, sword swinging in a wide arc. He’s illuminated by the moon, the soft light of the streetlights below. He looks like an avenging, wrathful god. If he started glowing right now, I wouldn’t even be surprised.</p><p>I block his first blow with the rebar, grasping one end in each hand. I pass the bar over to my right hand, wielding it like a staff, and parry another hit. Metal clanks sharply against metal.</p><p>“Stop - causing - trouble,” he says in between hits.</p><p>I grasp the bar again in both hands, scraping the center against his sword. My arms shake with tension as the blade slides against the grooves of the rebar. He finally frees his sword with an almighty scrape and stabs it toward me. I dodge just in time.</p><p>“You’re so obsessed with me, Blade,” I say. “There are other criminals in the city, you know.”</p><p>He pushes me across the roof again, his swordwork so swift that I barely see the hits coming. </p><p>“‘M not obsessed,” he mutters, almost to himself.</p><p>“Hey, it’s alright, I’m flattered, really. You’re a catch, Goldy.”</p><p>“Fuck <em> off,” </em>he shouts, lunging at me again.</p><p>“Make me.”</p><p>I shouldn’t have said that.</p><p>I can’t resist setting him off. He’s gorgeous to watch when he’s <em> alive, </em>in motion, absolutely fucking electric. Deadly.</p><p>He has my neck in his grip before I take my next breath. With his other hand, he holds the hilt of his sword by his hip, the point right up in my face. “You really want to challenge me like that?”</p><p>I shouldn’t be turned on by my sworn enemy gripping my throat with a gloved hand, staring at me with hatred in his eyes. (That can’t be healthy.) Looking down the length of his sword shouldn’t make me feel… well, <em> hungry </em>is the only word for it.</p><p>There’s hunger in his eyes, too. I’m not imagining it. Although it might be more of a bloodlust, if we’re being honest.</p><p>He squeezes my neck, and my heartbeat rushes into my ears. “I will hunt you down,” he swears, his voice a low growl. “I will fight you every time, every night if I have to, until you leave my city the <em> fuck </em> alone.”</p><p>The hotter he gets, the cooler I force myself to stay. It pisses him off. “Don’t you have other things to do every night?” I say conversationally. “Your girlfriend won’t be too happy.”</p><p>He lifts me by the neck, suffocating me for an instant, then tosses me across the roof like I’m a sack of flour. I land roughly, coughing as I pull myself to my feet. Even when Blade’s strength is used against me, it’s impressive as hell. </p><p>He deflates, inexplicably. “We broke up.”</p><p>The Golden Blade has emotions other than rage? How <em> interesting. </em></p><p>“Aww, I’m sorry,” I say. “And it was somehow my fault, was it?”</p><p>He huffs, and I can feel his anger popping to the surface again. “Yeah, actually--” He swings his sword, and I catch the blow with the metal gauntlet on my arm.  </p><p>He hits again and again, and the clashing sounds of the metal echo across the rooftop. I skirt around, forcing him to move close to the edge again.</p><p>“Was she wondering who your mystery lover was?” I tease. “Who you snuck off to meet in the dead of night every week? We can make our affair public if you want, sweetheart--”</p><p>His sword is at my chest again. But the malice is mostly gone from his voice, and he sounds tired when he says, “Shut the fuck up, Vampire.”</p><p>“Never,” I say. And then I step backwards off the edge of the roof.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
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